


Remembering Coulson

by AlexKingOfTheDamned, swimsalot



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Married Couple, Secret Relationship, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned, https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimsalot/pseuds/swimsalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint finds out that his husband Phil Coulson is dead. </p><p>Each Avenger takes their turn helping him through the process of grieving. </p><p>And a hallucination of Phil's spirit is along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A heavy silence hung over the shawarma restaurant where the Avengers were enjoying their after-battle meal. No one wanted to speak because that would open the flood gates, allowing all sorts of questions and the trauma of what had just occupied to overwhelm them. The only noise in the entire shop came from from the owners sweeping up the dust and debris the Avengers had tracked in with them and Loki who sat in the corner, his muzzle firmly in place and his hands cuffed around a table leg, and watched them eat. But no one spoke. No one even made eye contact.  
  
The atmosphere was stifling. Clint didn't know why but now, without the heat of battle, everyone seemed so distant. He knew he had missed a large chapter of their time as a team but out in the field they had worked so well together. Now it was as if they were all strangers. He could understand them treating him like an outsider, he had been their enemy for a short time and was naturally inclined towards separation. He hadn't reached out to anyone or done anything to earn his place in the group. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe he was putting them off. They had begun to bond without him and now here he was, an intruder in their midst. The best thing he could do now would be to hastily retreat and attempt to reconnect with them later.  
  
He slowly set his unfinished wrap back on the plate and stood to leave, not wanting to move to quickly and startle anyone. All their nerves were frayed and right now sudden movements were liable to put them even more on edge.  
  
"I have to call Coulson." he said slowly. "Mission check in. I'll meet up with you all later?"

 

“Whoa, whoa.” Tony suddenly lifted a metal-clad hand with a strange expression. “Coulson?”

 

Clint looked at him strangely right back. The question – could it be called that – didn’t make sense.

 

“Yes.” He said quietly, confused.

 

Loki’s brows lifted from the corner where he sat, and an almost sinister expression flashed across his glassy eyes.

Tony’s eyes flicked towards Steve and they looked at each other for a moment before finally they both looked back at Clint, who was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable.

 

“Oh shit. You weren’t there.” Tony said with sudden realization, both his hands lifting as if he was defending himself.

 

“Tony, don’t,” Steve said lowly, a warning tone.

 

"What happened?" Clint asked, trying to keep his voice more harsh than scared. He knew there was a lot of damage to the ship, he had helped create a lot of it, but Coulson was a trained fighter and a top agent. He could take care of himself. He wouldn't let himself get hurt. Not when so many others had made it out without as much as a scratch.

 

Steve’s expression was wary. He put down his own wrap – he’d hardly touched it anyway – and swallowed heavily before standing. It always seemed like bad news was delivered more sincerely while standing.

 

“Agent Coulson was killed in action.” He said evenly.

 

Thor sighed, swallowing the mouthful of food he’d been eating. “Indeed. I had the misfortune of watching the Son of Coul be murdered by my own brother.” He cast a dark look in Loki’s direction, who looked to be extremely pleased with himself.

 

Clint's shoulder's tightened and he took a step back, away from the table, his face carefully neutral so as not to give away how his world had just crumbled. Inside he was screaming, flipping the table and demanding to know how they could sit there eating when one of their comrades had died. Suddenly he felt sick to his stomach. The air around him was noxious and he had to take a few deep breaths to keep from being sick.  
  
"Why didn't any of you tell me?!" he asked, louder than he should have, just short of yelling.

 

“Chill your butt, man-of-war.” Tony said a bit defensively. “Look around, the city’s falling apart around us even _after_ the bad guys went kaput. We had a few more things on our minds than letting you know your coworker kicked the bucket.”

 

Natasha reached out to touch Clint’s hand comfortingly, but he jerked it away the instant her fingertips made contact with the side of his palm.

 

"He wasn't my coworker Stark!" Hawkeye yelled. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a gold ring that hung from a chain around his neck. "He was my _husband!_ We got married over a year and a half ago!"  
  
His knees felt weak and he grabbed the first chair he could find and pulled it towards him, sinking gratefully onto the seat. He hung his head, one hand still clutching the gold ring while the other covered his eyes, trying to black out the world around him.  
  
Phil was gone. His Phil, the man he had pledged his life to, was gone and he hadn't even been there to say goodbye. He had died with no one around him but some assholes who didn't give a shit. Who went out to eat shawarma after as if nothing had happened. Who couldn't even be bothered to observe a moment of silence on their friend's behalf.

 

Silence fell over the restaurant even more heavily than before. Like a fog, or a blanket, nobody dared even to breathe. Loki broke the silence with a sort of haughty chuckle from behind, but he was silenced instantly by a rather frank backhand across the face from Thor.

 

“Show respect, brother.” He hissed, “I know not of Midgardian marital customs, but even I know that when one’s spouse dies you must –”

 

“Thor,” Bruce ventured cautiously, putting his hand on the Asgardian’s bicep, trying to discourage him from a second strike to Loki. “I’m thinking now isn’t the best time.”

 

Natasha had a heartbroken expression on her face as she observed the broken man sitting forlornly in a chair as if his heart had just stopped.

 

“But, Clint, I thought we… I mean, I thought you and I…” she started quietly. She couldn’t finish her sentence. They’d been together for a very short time a very long time ago, but she’d always thought they would get back together again when things settled down.

 

Silence fell again. Clint said nothing. Steve shifted, uncomfortable, and avoided looking in any direction in particular.

 

“Holy shit, are you serious?” Tony suddenly broke the silence again, and Bruce just sighed.

 

He and I worked together when I first joined shield." Clint explained, suddenly quiet and hallow. "We were friends. Then Natasha and I broke up and I don't know. Things just fell into place. We loved each other and we wanted to settle down. We had even started talking about what to do when we retired." he stopped and looked up, not at the Avengers but at Loki. Without consciously thinking about it his hand started to move towards his quiver. "He killed him?"

 

Thor’s chest suddenly blocked his view of Loki.

 

“Indeed. And he is returning to Asgard to pay for his crimes. Including every Midgardian he murdered. _Including_ the Son of Coul.”

 

Loki snorted from behind Thor.

 

Clint stood, his eyes never leaving the spot behind Thor where he knew Loki was. It was as if he couldn't even see Thor, as if the god had somehow turned transparent.   
  
"How?" he demanded. "You won't execute him. I know you won't. He told as about you, about how noble you are. You'll try to fix him, give him another chance. I won't. Just stand aside and I'll give him all the punishment he deserves."

 

“You will do no such thing.” Thor said, his fist tensing around his hammer.

 

“Okay!” Bruce suddenly said, standing up and extending his arms between the two men. “Thor, you sit down. Clint, you get outside. Put some distance between you and Loki before I do it for you.”

 

Tony’s brows arched from the table and he snorted. “Bruce, I like it when you get like that. I get chills.”

 

“ _Not_ now, Tony,” Bruce said, his eyes flashing as he looked back at the indifferent billionaire.

 

Clint cast one more withering stare at Loki, his eyes saying what his mouth couldn't. That if he ever got the chance, no matter how small the window of opportunity, he wouldn't let Loki walk away alive. Then he turned and nearly ran for the exit. He felt claustrophobic all of a sudden. He needed air, height, space. He had to get away, as far from them as possible.   
  
Back inside the restaurant Steve cleared his throat. The entire conversation had thrown him for a loop, the idea of two men getting married being something he had never even considered, but he was still a good enough leader to recognize when someone was in distress no matter what other thoughts were tumbling around in his brain. And Clint was clearly in distress, the kind of distress a man shouldn't be left alone to ponder in case he decide act rashly.  
  
"Ms. Romanoff," he said, turning to Natasha. "I think it might be smart if you went after him."

 

Natasha nodded, still looking upset, and chased the man out of the restaurant.

 

“Well, this is pretty goddamn fantastic.” Tony said, even his chipper attitude seemed dampened a little.

 

“Tony, just don’t.” Bruce sighed, sitting back down once the danger of a fight breaking out among the team was extinguished.

 

Already hot on his tail, Natasha gave Clint a little bit of space as she tracked him. He was clearly distraught, not even trying to cover his tracks, and she followed on auto-pilot. Her mind was still reeling – Clint was married? To _Agent Coulson?_ It seemed too unbelievable to even accept. It was outrageous – why hadn’t he ever told her? She’d seen them interact in the past year and a half, and they’d never even seemed remotely romantic towards each other. Could they just _turn it off_ during work hours?

 

She wasn’t an expert in marriage, but if two people loved each other so much that they decided to get married, she didn’t think they should be able to interact with one another like casual business friends.

 

Clint let his feet carry him through the streets, around piles of rubble and smashed cars, into the first building his subconscious deemed worthy. Flight after flight of stairs he climbed until he found himself on a now familiar roof top. It was he same one Tony had left him on earlier, as per Steve's orders. It felt different now, too still and empty, even for him. But maybe that wasn't just the rooftop. Maybe that was just how the world was going to be now.  
  
Still, the freedom and quiet were what he had craved. He didn't want to be around anyone right now. It should have been one of them not...He shouldn't have been fighting anyway. That's why Fury had been putting this team together. So that agents like...Coulson, wouldn't have to go into the field as much. It was why Clint had wanted to join the team in the first place. That and a small reckless streak that Coulson was always on his case about.  
  
God, he'd have to make calls. Coulson had some family even if they didn't speak much. He would have to call them and tell them. Then he'd have to see about getting the body from Fury. There would be a funeral to arrange and he'd need to arrange for a burial spot or cremation....  
  
The tears started again. It was too soon. They weren't supposed to say goodbye yet. They were supposed to have years to grow old and save the world before they even began to think about things like this. He didn't even know if Coulson had a will.  
  
He sighed and sat down on the edge of the roof, his feet hanging over the street below.  
  
 _It's not supposed to be like this. He shouldn't have gone first. It was never supposed to be him. Never Phil._

He could almost hear him, as if he was standing right there beside him. His voice sounded so solid, so close.

 

“Come on, Clint, you’re a soldier. Don’t sit here moping because of a little thing like this.”

 

“I can’t do this alone.” Clint responded aloud, coming close to looking around for the source of the voice, it had seemed so real.

 

“You’re not alone. You’ve got your team. They fought to get you back, they care about you. I know this team will do great things.”

 

Clint turned now, and could almost see a physical manifestation of Phil standing near the doorway down to the building. Blurry and foggy, like Clint wasn’t quite ready yet to bring him into focus. Like his mind was still holding itself back. Fear.

 

“But they aren’t _you_.”

 

The door to the roof burst open and the foggy image of Phil evaporated completely. Clint cried out and almost tried to reach out as if he could take hold of it and bring it back, but it was too late. The image was gone. Natasha was standing there instead, chest heaving, eyes watering.

 

“Clint.” She said breathily, swallowing. “Please, move away from the edge of the roof.”

 

Clint sighed and turned away. For a moment he could have actually believed...But that was stupid. It wasn't possible. And if anyone found out he had thought he'd been talking to a dead man they would retire him, and then where would he be? Alone with no job and nowhere to go.  
  
"I'm not going to jump, if that's what you're thinking." he told her.

 

“Come away from the edge of the roof and I might even believe you.” Natasha said defensively, holding up her hands like she wanted to reach out and pull him away herself, but she made not a move closer.

 

Rolling his eyes Clint pulled his legs in and turned to face her. He was still sitting on the ledge but his feet were now firmly planted on the rooftop.   
  
"What do you want Natasha?" He asked.  
  
She approached him cautiously, like she was afraid at any sudden movement, he'd turn around and throw himself off the roof. She sat beside him after a moment, never breaking eye contact. Her eyes were ambivalent - scared, hurt, upset, angry.   
  
"Clint... why didn't you ever tell me you were married? You... I thought we had something. You never even officially _broke up_ with me, we just... you never told me anything. I thought we were going to get back together, I had these expectations for the future... I loved you, Clint."

 

Clint closed his eyes and let his head fall forward into his hands. "You said you didn't want anything serious so I backed off. I wanted to be with you but I didn't see the point in waiting. Then there was Phil. He wanted what I wanted. He was ready for a real relationship and it was awesome. The kind of thing you and I aren't supposed to have, you know?"

 

Swallowing hard, she broke eye contact in order to look at the street far down below. “But then… why didn’t you ever tell me? I thought we were friends… I wasn’t invited to any wedding, I didn’t even _know_ … Clint, it’s impossible to believe. Nobody knew.”

 

He shrugged. "We didn't see the point in telling anyone. If people knew they wouldn't let us work together. Everyone would always be watching us, waiting for one of us to slip up somehow. So we kept it professional. It wasn't that hard. As for the wedding," here he smiled a little, a reminiscent sort of smile like he was laughing at some joke she wasn't in on. "We didn't have one. We went down town, picked up a few witnesses and signed the papers."

 

Swallowing again, Natasha pressed her lips together in a firm line as she looked up at him. “So you didn’t even tell _me?_ You just let me continue to think that we were going to be something again someday?”

 

"I didn't think you still wanted that." Clint replied, subtly pulling farther away from her. "You're the one who said this was all about wiping the red from your ledger."

 

Natasha looked back down to the street, trying to keep her expression even. “So you and Coulson. How… how long, exactly?”

 

"Four years this October. He asked me about two months after you and I ended." Clint replied. His felt tight and he was barely resisting the urge to swing his legs back over the ledge and letting his whole body follow after.

 

Four years seemed so _short_ now considering how long they should have had. They should have had a lifetime.

 

Natasha wrung her hands together as she watched the police bustling around below. “Listen, I… I don’t want to make this about me. I can’t imagine what it must be like to… well.” Sniffling, she looked up at him again. “I think of you as a very good friend, Clint, and at this point I hope you see me at least as the same. If you need to talk to someone… if you need to call me at three in the morning because you had a bad dream, if you need me to come over so you aren’t alone, any time of day or night. I’m just a phone call away.”

 

“She cares about you. Don’t turn her away. She’s hurting too.”  Phil’s voice was so near. So real.

 

"Could you..." he swallowed. It was a hard thing to ask or even _think_ about, but there was no way he could get through this alone. And Phil – or rather, the imagined voice – was right. Natasha cared for him.   
  
"Could you help me with the funeral?" he asked quietly.

 

“Of course.” She nodded, forcing down tears. She was still in love with him. In love with the man she just agreed to plan a funeral with, for _his_ husband. She couldn’t believe what she was getting herself into. “Yeah, I’ll help. And… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that he.... I just… I didn’t know, you know?”

 

"You weren't supposed to yet." tears slipped from his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He and Phil had been discussing how to break it to everyone. They knew it wasn't something they could keep to themselves forever but they had wanted to make sure everything was stable at work and at home first. "We were going to tell in a few months, once things calmed down. It's been a little crazy for us right now."  
  
That was another call he would have to make. Probably the hardest one on the list he was already putting together in his head.

 

There was silence for a long time before she put her hand on his shoulder in the most awkward way possible. She was trying to comfort him, but had absolutely no idea what to do.

 

“Alright, well… I’ve got to get back and let the Captain know you didn’t jump off the nearest building. Just… do me a favor and _don’t_ , okay? We can’t handle another one gone.”

 

Offering him a forced smile, she pushed off her knees into a stand and hurried from the roof. She couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.

 

 Clint watched her go before swinging his legs back around so he was once again just one quick push away from toppling over the edge. Why he didn't just do it he didn't know. Maybe he was just too much of a coward or just too weak. Maybe that was why it had been so easy for Loki to control him. If he hadn't then maybe Phil would still be alive.  
  
 _Useless to think about the maybes._ he reminded himself. He knew he wasn't weak and he didn't really want to die. He just didn't want to be alone.

 

“You’re not alone.” Legs swung over the side of the roof beside Clint, legs that belonged to Phil. Clad in that damnable iron-pressed suit and immaculate dress shoes, worn hands on his knees, gold ring shining bright. Nobody ever asked him about that ring. He seemed _so real_ , but Clint knew if he so much as tried to reach out and touch him he would disappear. “You’re never alone.”

 

"Yes I am." he told the figure. "Without you I've got no one. It'll be worse than before I knew you. I'm scared Coulson. I don't want to do this by myself."

 

“Still calling me by my last name.” Phil laughed. “You know, you only do that when you’re upset with me. Are you upset with me, Clint?”

 

"No," he responded a little too quick. But if he stopped to think about it he was upset. Angry even. "A little. Not just with you not being here. I know you're going to tell me that this job is dangerous and I should have known this could happen. I did know. Doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

 

“Heavens, I should hope you aren’t happy about this. _I’m_ not happy about this.” Phil sighed, his hands on his knees as he stared out over the wreckage of the city. “I didn’t want to leave so soon. I can’t imagine what will happen to Matthew now.”

 

Clint hadn’t even thought of that. A sharp pang shot through his chest when he remembered the little baby he and Phil had met and decided would be a part of their home once things had settled down a little.

 

He remembered the day fondly. They’d discovered after over ten months of marriage that they both desperately wanted to be a father, so decided to take steps towards their mutual goal. That day at the orphanage was wonderful. They wanted a baby, and upon looking through the small group of infants available, they stumbled upon a four month old boy named Matthew with big blue eyes and wispy blonde hair. He’d made eye contact with Clint, and he just stood there for a long, long time, just _looking_ at him. Until an attendant walked up,

 

“Would you like to hold him?”

 

Clint couldn’t speak as he was handed the tiny boy. Matthew laid across his chest and burbled gently, and from that moment, Clint was in love. Phil had been on the other side of the room, and by the time he made his way back, Clint was completely sold. They were set up to bring Matthew into their home by the end of the next year.

 

"I can't raise him on my own." Clint said with a sigh, desperately wanting to reach out and grab the imaginary Phil. He would like to believe he could, that despite his loss he could still go through with the adoption but he knew he couldn't. Not without Phil. They had wanted to start a family and he wouldn't be able to look at that baby without thinking of what it could have been like.

 

Phil sighed and shook his head slowly. “I know… it’s going to be hard. But you aren’t going to be alone. Just remember that. You have people that care about you. You will always have people that care about you.”

 

Clint looked over to respond, but the man who’d been sitting beside him, _so real_ , had vanished.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Clint had been waiting in Fury's office for forty minutes before the man himself came in. Standing quietly in the back near the door it seemed as though his commanding officer didn’t realize he was there until he spoke.  
  
"I'm sure someone has told you by now about my relationship with Coulson." He said, breaking the silence.

 

“I already knew.” Fury said, not looking up from his work on his desk. “I always knew. Is that what you’re here about? I’m sorry for your loss.” It sounded rehearsed, forced, expected.

 

Clint kept his expression neutral, a mask of calm that he had perfected long ago. He had to keep this professional. Fury wouldn't respond to an emotional outburst. This had to be quick, just make his demands and get out.  
  
"As his husband I have the right to claim his body. To give him a proper burial." he explained.

 

Still not looking up, Fury spoke mildly. “His body is not eligible for release at this time.”

 

"Sir, from what I've heard there's no reason to keep him. He was confirmed dead, cause known. Any of his hings that were related to his work are yours to collect. But his body should be released for his funeral." Clint said, stepping up to the desk. He stood at military rest but every muscle in his body was tight, as if preparing for a fight.

 

Fury finally looked up, his expression serious. “I can’t give you the body, Clint. Drop it.”

 

Clint leaned forward, fists resting on the desk. He looked Fury in the eye, meeting his serious expression with one of carefully controlled rage. "Sir that is my husband. I didn't get to say goodbye to him before he died but I'm sure as hell going to give him a decent send off. I want his body or a reason why I can't have it."

 

“Because, _Agent Barton_ , there _isn’t_ a body.” Fury said evenly, his eye narrowing as he observed Clint’s expression – one sudden movement away from all-out war.

 

Slowly, as if in sudden pain, Clint straightened.   
  
"What do you mean there isn't a body?" he asked, volume raising. "What the hell did you do?!"

 

“I mean, we were in a heliplane _falling from the sky_.” Fury said, raising his own voice to match and drawing himself up to his full height. “I had over two hundred men in danger of death, and with one already dead, there wasn’t exactly anywhere to _put_ a body. He’s been _cremated_ , Agent Barton, and scattered over the ocean. Now if you’re done bothering me about his body, I have _work_ to do.”

 

His anger taking hold, Clint swept his arm over the desk, knocking Fury's papers and computer to the floor. "You can't just dismiss this! You had no right!" Clint yelled, his face turning red. "That was my _husband!_ What happened to him should have been my call!"

 

“What happens to _Earth_ should be the _humans’_ call, but that didn’t exactly go to plan either, _did it_ Agent Barton?” Fury said, clasping his hands behind his back and choosing to write off Clint’s anger for the time being. “As director, I have to make split second decisions sometimes. I didn’t have time to care for and package a dead body while I was so busy trying to make sure _nobody else_ died.”

 

"Then you should have told me! Before you acted, while I was on the ship! Don't pretend you didn't have the time for that either!" At his side his fingers flexed, eager to grab for the knife he kept in his boot. Not to use it, not yet anyway, but simply to hold it. To know it was there in case...well just in case.

 

“You were unconscious, agent.” Fury said, his tone still even. “And I needn’t remind you, before that _mind controlled_. There wasn’t a lot of wiggle room. Coulson was dead long before you woke up, and I still had people to keep safe.”

 

"Bullshit! There was plenty of time to tell me after I woke up. It would have taken you a lot less time to send someone to get me than to figure out how to cremate a man on board a falling heliplane." Clint challenged, "You just decided it didn't matter. Fuck emotions and personal connections. As long as you got your team, like you wanted."

 

Fury took a long, slow breath in. “You’re emotionally compromised, agent. I’m removing you from active duty until further notice. Go clear your head.”

 

Clint inhaled sharply. Removed from duty. He'd never been placed on leave before, never. He'd never even requested it though there were quite a few times when it would have been justified. And now Fury was sending him away for getting upset over losing his husband?  
  
"With all due respect sir,"he said with a forced calm. "I don't see why I would come back."

 

Fury exhaled through his nose and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Come back, don't come back. Either way, leave me in peace. You can't even begin to imagine the amount of work I have to do after what's happened to the city." 

 

Clint turned and stormed out of the room, kicking over a chair as he went. He managed to get a short way down the hall before most of the anger leeched out of him and he to stop because his knees felt weak. He'd lost Phil and now was being denied the chance to properly say goodbye.   
  
 _Damn him. Damn him and Loki and the entire fucking team. Maybe I really won't come back._ he thought, holding onto the wall for support.

 

"You don't mean that." suddenly Phil was standing down the hall, hands in his pockets as casually as you like. Clint knew he was an apparition, but he was the most friendly thing he could possibly think of right now.  "You can't leave this team, not now. Not for something like   _me_. I want you to stay. Stay part of the team. And you want to stay too, you're just mad at Fury. Don't do something you'll regret here, Clint. Don't do something I'll regret." 

 

"You can't regret anything. You're not here." he reminded the hallucination. Despite that he was glad to see him. Even if it was only in his head he needed him right now. He needed to not be alone. "It would serve him right if I left. He knew we were married and he didn't bother to tell me what had happened. Then he just threw you out, like garbage. Burned you up and tossed what was left into the ocean. You deserve better than that."

 

"Don't tell me I can't regret." Phil walked up to Clint and lifted one hand out of his pocket to run it across the distraught man's jaw. Clint couldn't feel the touch, which was somehow worse than if he could. "The world deserves to be safe. Fury was doing what he had to in order to keep the planet from falling under Loki's rein. I was the least important variable in that equation. And you know all this. I can't tell you anything you don't already know." 

 

"He should have told me. As soon as I came to, someone should have told me." Clint said. But it wasn't really their fault. No one had known, except apparently Fury, that he and Phil had been together. If they did he knew Natasha or someone would have told him right away. And maybe Phil was right. Maybe Fury had only been doing what he thought was best but that didn't change how betrayed he felt.

 

"It's best you didn't know until now." Phil shook his head, slipping his hand back into his pocket. "You wouldn't have been safe during that final battle. You would have been distracted and hurting and you could have been hurt. It's best you're only just finding out."   
  
_We could have died together._

He thought it, but wouldn't say aloud. If he did he knew what Phil would say, that there would be no point. That he didn't want Clint to die for him. And since it was his own mind talking to him he knew it wasn't really what he wanted either. Part of him still couldn't accept that Phil was gone, a part he had hoped to put to rest when he buried his husband's body. Now that that was out of the question he would have to let that little spark of hope die out on its own. Maybe then he'd feel differently.  
  
"I should go home. Before Fury has me escorted out." he said, pulling himself up straight and heading in the general direction of the exit.

 

He turned when Phil didn’t respond, but the apparition was gone, leaving him alone in the hall once more. It felt colder, somehow, and more empty. Like even the presence of Clint’s tortured imaginings brought warmth to the space around him.

 

Clint spent the next five days either in Stark Tower or running from place to place trying to get things set for the funeral. At first he had been tempted to give it up entirely but Natasha had talked him into an empty coffin burial. It wasn't what he wanted but it was still saying good bye. He could accept that.  
  
It was disconcerting though. Not the running around, which was depressing and drove him closer and closer to either alcoholism or suicide with every stop they made, but living in the Tower. The others all seemed perfectly comfortable living together but for him it felt odd. Like there was too much space. He would have preferred to go home but couldn't. That was his and Phil's apartment. Clint didn't think he could stand to be there alone. If the others even let him, which seemed unlikely. They'd all gotten very clingy since breaking the news to him about Phil's death. Like they thought if they turned their backs on him for too long they'd lose him too.  
  
Which, admittedly, probably wasn't such a ridiculous thought.  
  
But he didn't like the tower. He didn't like the plain gray closet where his clothes (which Natasha had kindly gone to his apartment and gotten for him) hung and the picture of him and Phil on their wedding day sat on a shelf. He didn't like the bed which was too big and cold at night without someone stretched out beside him. He didn't like the bare walls and cold steel furnishings. It was impersonal. Empty. Dead. Everything was just so dead.  
  
So he spent most of his time with Natasha, who was a saint in her own way for putting up with him, in her subtly decorated room. It was still emptier and more....military, than he was used to but at least it had some life. It was enough too keep him from completely losing his mind.   
  
Together they worked hard to plan a fitting send off for Phil. Clint was grateful for her help and glad that he had enlisted her. She seemed to have come to terms with what had happened and kindly made most of the big decisions for him when it got to be too overwhelming. The only thing she refused to do was call any family members. That, she said, was the husband's job.  
  
So little by little they worked their way through, arranging times and places and whether the ceremony should be religious or not. And finally, after a night of fitful half-sleep, Clint pulled himself out of bed, and prepared for the ceremony.

 

It wasn’t terribly large, and the majority of the people there were wearing black suits and sunglasses, like henchmen to a James Bond super villain. Clint knew they were coworkers of Phil’s, but he doubted how many of them actually knew him enough to give a shit, and how many of them came for the free food.

 

Fury was there, even though Clint was pretty angry with him. Natasha had insisted that he be allowed to attend, despite what had happened.

 

There was a lot of strained, hushes conversation, and a lot of people who tried to approach Clint, but he always gave them an angry sort of standoffish look. He didn’t want their hugs, he didn’t want their sympathy.

 

He just wanted Phil.

 

When the ceremony finally started, Clint was already feeling claustrophobic. He wanted out, he wanted to get away. He didn’t want this anymore.

 

“Oh, come on, do it for me.” There he was again, clear as day, standing right beside the chair that Clint had hid himself in towards the back. “You _have_ to say something for me. You can’t leave without giving a speech. It’s a necessity.”

 

The priest (they had talked to Phil's mother and found out he had been raised Catholic) said his piece and stood aside for Clint to begin. There was a roaring in his ears as he approached the podium and he felt sick to his stomach but he fought through it. This was for Phil. For the man he loved more than anything in the world. He deserved a proper good bye.  
  
"Phil was the most extraordinary person I ever met." he started. "But you wouldn't know it by looking at him. It took me three years to even begin to realize how special he was. Some of us stand out in obvious ways, if you need an example Tony Stark is in the front row," he paused for the small ripple of laughter that passed through the crowd. He had always been sarcastic and enjoyed humor even if most people didn't talk to him long enough to know it. It had been something Phil had always liked. He hoped that, if there was some kind of after life, he could appreciate it now.   
  
"Not Phil though." he continued. "If you weren't looking for it, it was easy to miss how amazing he was. His dedication to his job might to some seem like he was a work-aholic. We even kept calling each other by our last names in the office after we got married. But that was just how Phil was. He poured everything he had into what he believed in and S.H.I.E.L.D. was one of those things. He believed in helping people and was content to take a back seat to the big names that got all the glory. As long as the job got done he didn't care. It was that quiet compassion and hidden strength that I was drawn too. I fell in love with him for that, though the fact that he could take me apart in less than two minutes of sparring might have helped.  
  
"I'm not going to keep going on about all the reasons I loved him. He wouldn't want that. Like everything else in his life he would want this to be short and too the point. So here it is. I loved Phil Coulson when he was alive and I love him now. I'm better for having had him even if that time was too short. Nothing can change that."  
  
His voice broke on the last few words and he quickly left the podium, hurrying back to his seat so they wouldn't see him cry.

 

“There you go. Now you can run away if you want, I don’t blame you.” Phil said soothingly from behind Clint. He watched the apparition put his hands on his shoulders, but could not feel their warmth or their weight. “I would run away too. And no one’s better at disappearing than you.”

 

Clint shook his head. "Not yet." he whispered, hoping no one heard or if they did, they would just write it off as grief. The truth was he had one last thing to do before he could disappear and lock himself away to drown his sorrows.

 

“You’re stronger than I would be in this situation.”

 

It sounded like something Phil would have said, but it wasn’t his voice. The apparition was gone, and in its place, Tony. He was standing beside Clint in the back, hands tucked lackadaisically into his pockets. He looked incredibly uncomfortable.

 

"No." Clint replied. He knew it might seem like he had it together but that was a front. Anyone who knew him well, like Phil had, would be able to see just how weak he was right now. It would be so easy to just let go and fall apart right now but he had learned long ago how to hold himself together, at least until no one would see.  "I've just had more practice."

 

Tony looked over to where Natasha was giving a short speech about Coulson and how working with him had always been a pleasure. He was silent for a moment before he knocked his knuckles against Clint’s shoulder.

 

“I think you need to get drunk. It’s always worked for me when I’m upset about something.” He offered gently.

 

"Maybe after the funeral." Clint said half-heartedly. Drinking had been a part of his plans for the evening, followed by a few grueling and probably irresponsible rounds on the range but he doubted that was what Tony had in mind.

 

“You feel the need to stay?” Tony asked, as Natasha stepped down so Fury could share a few sentences about why Coulson was _the_ SHIELD agent.

 

Clint sighed. "I'm not done yet. I wanted to do something for him that was more than just a speech."  
  
Director Fury stepped down and the priest stood up again. "Phil's husband would now like to come up again to play a song he arranged for his husband."  
  
With a sigh Clint heaved himself out of his seat, ignoring Tony's questioning glance, and approached the small stage again. His cello was brought to him and he sat, checking to make sure it was still tuned before arranging his fingers and pulling the bow across, drawing out the first few haunting notes. He closed his eyes then and let himself get lost in the music. It had taken him ages to choose the song before he had finally settled on My Immortal by Evanescence. He knew the song wasn't really Phil's kind of thing. He had always preferred classical. But Clint couldn't help feeling like it fit. The words and heartbreaking melody came so easily to him and he hoped that the cello solo would be classy enough to suit his husband's tastes.

 

Tony’s eyebrows rocketed up on his forehead. Whispers filled the crowd before dying, and Tony moved up in the audience to sit beside Steve.

 

“ _Clint’s_ the cellist?” the Captain breathed.

 

“I didn’t know either.” Tony whispered back, his eyes fixed on Clint’s deft fingers.

 

Clint opened his eyes halfway through the song, and Phil was sitting at the edge of the stage, one foot folded casually over his knee, swaying with the same dreamy expression on his face he always got when he listened to Clint play.

 

Clint smiled a little. This was his real send off, a more proper goodbye than his speech could ever have been. Phil used to tease him when he talked too much; making fun of him for being the chattiest mercenary he had ever met, especially for someone who specialized in stealth. But he had never once complained about Clint's cello. They had spent many nights like this, with Clint playing while Phil sat on the couch and read reports or picked at whatever was left of their dinner. Those moments had always been special for them because they represented all those lucky moments when they could put Agent Coulson and Hawkeye aside and just be together without having to worry about their jobs interfering. Those moments were sacred and Clint couldn't imagine any other way to let Phil go than this.  
  
The song came to an end and Clint lowered his bow, only now realizing he was crying. He had probably been crying the entire time without realizing it.   
  
"Good bye Phil." he whispered before rising and making a beeline for the nearest exit.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony caught up with him in the parking lot, the sun dipping low in the sky.

 

“Come on, buddy. Let’s go drink your feelings.” He said, putting his arm around Clint’s shoulder. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t been put up to this by Natasha because she doesn’t want you to be alone tonight. That’s preposterous.”

 

Sighing Clint let himself be dragged towards Tony's car. He knew it was useless to argue. If he refused and went back to the tower, Tony would just put him under surveillance and he would never get away with his drunken exploits in the archery range. He didn't really have the energy to fight anyway, and a drink sounded pretty good.  
  
"Nowhere expensive." he said. "I want small, dark, dirty and depressing, alright?"

 

“You got it.” Tony said, peeling out of the parking lot. “You know we’re lucky we got out when we did. Thor was just getting up to relay how terrible it was, in great detail. I tried to convince him that it wouldn’t be a good idea, but apparently it’s some sort of custom on Asgard to give a play-by-play of a great warrior’s death.”

 

Clint shuddered. He couldn't imagine having to sit through that. He had a general idea of what had happened and that was enough to give him nightmares. Hearing exactly what had happened would ensure that he never closed his eyes ever again. Or it might simply kill him.  
  
"Why would anyone want to hear that?" he asked as he leaned back against the leather seat.

 

“Asgardians are nuts.” Tony shrugged as he ran through a red light, sending a wave of honking rippling out behind him.

 

The rest of the ride was silent, Tony even spared the grieving man his usual rock-and-roll soundtrack as he pulled into the parking lot of a very seedy looking bar. He had Jarvis roll up the top and lock the doors _and_ deploy the electric idiot-proof barrier. He didn’t trust places like this.

 

Walking in like he owned the place, he informed the bartender that he was opening a tab for the two of them, and to keep it coming until his friend was either vomiting blood or passed out across his lap.

 

"Whiskey sour." Clint ordered, taking a seat at the bar. Maybe going with Tony hadn't been such a bad idea. Plenty of drinks plus a ride home and he didn't have to pay for any of it. Not a bad way to drown one's sorrows. As long as Tony didn't talk too much this might be alright.

 

Unfortunately, it seemed like Tony had a fair few question. Clint tried to ignore them at first, and then moved onto shrugging or only answering yes or no questions with shakes of his head.

 

“Come on, Barton, you’ve got to give me _something_ here, I’m dying to know. I’m not going to _tell_ anyone.”

 

"My name isn't Barton." he said, hoping that would shut Tony up for a while. He really just wanted to drink in peace. "I changed it when we got married. Bartender, how about an Irish Car Bomb this time?"

 

The bartender seemed very amused at the fact he got to make so many different drinks that usually weren’t ordered by the sorts of people that wandered into this bar.

 

“Clint then. I can’t call you Coulson.” Tony said. “Wait, you took _his_ name? _You’re_ the woman in the relationship?”

 

Clint took the shot and dropped it into his drink and downed it. "Yep. Did you expect otherwise?"

 

Tony took a few moments of silence to process this new information. “Well… well, yeah. Clint, you’re a _super hero_. You’re Batman, you’re Superman, you’re Spiderman, you’re the missing link, you’re part of a _team of badasses_. Coulson’s just… well, he’s just some tweed-wearing agent. No offense, but the guy’s like 50.”

 

"Forty six. Which is only a few years older than you." Clint corrected. "And he could kick my ass any time he wanted. Not many people knew but Phil is- was-" he stopped, feeling the weight of his mistake for a moment before pressing on. "a master of hand-to-hand combat. On par with Natasha in some ways."

 

Tony’s brows lifted as he took a shot of his own. “Is that so?” he muttered. “But still… _really?_ I mean… seriously? I don’t know, I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around that. Coulson’s… he’s a pretty unassuming guy.”

 

"Who could have killed you in two seconds with a paper clip. Besides, you know what they say, the most uptight ones are usually the most adventurous in bed." Clint said, enjoying the shock and horror on Tony's face.

 

“Barkeep, another shot please. With bleach in it.” Tony accepted the shot (probably free of bleach) and tossed it back, whooping at the burn. “So what, he’s some kind of freak in the sack? Whips, chains and candle wax?”

 

Clint laughed. "Not our thing. Sometimes we pulled out the handcuffs but that kind of thing has the unsavory side effect of flashbacks. We've both been tortured too much to enjoy anything like that. Spankings weren't out of the question though. And he had a thing for men in high heels." He ordered another drink and downed it. He knew he shouldn't be saying this much but couldn't bring himself to care. It wasn't like Phil was here to get embarrassed.   
  
" _You_ wore heels?" Tony asked incredulously.  
  
Clint smirked. "Give me a pair of pumps and I can out-strut Heidi Klum if I have to." he answered proudly.

 

Tony made a face as he tried his best to keep from envisioning Hawkeye bopping around in stilettos.

 

“We should make an Avengers calendar. You can be Miss January.” He said with a bitter chuckle as he tipped back another shot.

 

"I don't think there are enough of us to fill up a calendar." Clint answered. "Besides, I look better in fall wear."

 

Tony laughed as the drinks kept coming. The bartender was appeased at the end of the night with a one hundred and fifty dollar tab, plus an extra fifty thrown in as a tip for making the zillion obscure drinks Clint had asked for.

 

The inebriated agent was dropped off on his floor of the tower, with the light dimmed by Jarvis and the temperature increased to encourage him to sleep it off.

 

“Keep him from doing anything stupid, Jarvis.” Tony addressed the ceiling, which answered with a chipper,

 

“Locking down the firing range for the night, sir.” And then after a moment, “Air vents included.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Clint woke up with the unrelenting urge to shoot himself. Not so much because he was depressed, which he was, but more to escape the agonizing pounding in his head. He clearly had way too much to drink last night though he couldn't remember most of it. Which was probably for the best. He knew from experience and reports from Tasha that he could be a real idiot when he drank.  
  
He sat up in bed and briefly considered crawling to the kitchen for some coffee when he heard a knock on the door.  
  
"Enter at your own risk." he called before groaning at the pain his own voice caused him.

 

“Uh, it’s Bruce.” Came the cautious voice of the scientist. “I just thought… well, I thought maybe you might want this.” He shuffled into the room – which reeked of alcohol – holding a small glass bottle with a single pill in it in one hand. “Tony would come to work with hangover so often that I dedicated a weekend to making a pill that would cut his complaining time down by 88%. It’s a really strong form of ibuprofen basically, but it’s amped up in just the areas that matter, so your brain – actually, I should probably spare you the mechanics lecture.” He handed the little bottle to Clint and stood awkwardly by the side of the bed, and held out a plain white mug with the other hand. “Black coffee. Don’t know how you like it, but it kicks your butt in just the right way coming out of a hangover.”

 

"Black with sugar usually." Clint said, gratefully taking the pill and downing half the coffee in one go. It was bitter and he made a face at it before finishing the rest. "Phil always liked it black. I could never understand why."

 

“You know… I’m… I’m not pretending to be an expert on the subject,” Bruce said, sitting awkwardly on the empty bedside table and taking back the empty mug. “But, ah… I’ve lost a lover in the past too. I know, I understand that a spouse is different, but… well, what I’m trying to say is, you’re probably not making this any easier on yourself by constantly talking about him. You’re not going to bring him back by going over and over the laundry list of things you miss about him.”

 

Clint sighed. "I know. But I can't get him off my mind. Everything reminds me of something we did or meant to do. Things we can't do now. I should have been more prepared for this, I mean we knew one of us would probably outlive the other but...I didn't think it would be so soon."

 

“Alright… I don’t know if this is going to help at all… but I’m going to let you in on something that we scientists know as fact. The first law of thermodynamics is that no energy anywhere in the universe is ever created or destroyed. It’s constant, ever present. And it’s primarily observed through heat waves. Heat is only borrowed, and all the heat that Coulson ever possessed escaped him and is floating around in the world. Every photon in the air that he breathed, every light particle that ever touched his face is still here, still around us. According to the law of the conservation of energy, Phil’s presence is still here, in our atmosphere. He’s just not contained within his body anymore.”

That was the kindest and most beautiful thing anyone could have said and Clint only just stopped himself from reaching out and hugging Bruce as tightly as he could.  
  
"Thank you. I would rather have him here with me but that does help."

 

Bruce clapped his hands together quietly for a few more seconds. “Hey, want… want to come up to the lab with me? I’ve been tinkering with your quiver trying to make it connect arrowheads to the shafts faster – I mean, I haven’t touched the exact one you’ve been working with – but I thought maybe you’d want to check it out? Give it a… a test run? Let me know what you think? I’m no engineer, but there were a few bugs I worked out in the equation of electromagnetic currency through your quiver.”

 

Clint nodded. "Yeah that sounds great. Just give me a chance to shower and get dressed, alright? I'll meet you there in half an hour."

 

“If you could do me a favor and use the door when you do? It makes me nervous when you crawl around through the ducts like a mouse.” Bruce offered the agent a weak smile before retreating from the room with the mug in hand.

 

When he was gone Clint sighed and began peeling off the suit he had never gotten around to removing last night. He would have to burn it later. There's no way he could ever look at it again without thinking of the funeral.  
  
Once he was undressed he tossed the offending garment in a pile and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would go. It burned but he didn't turn it down. Right now he could appreciate the pain.

 

Bruce was fiddling with a screwdriver and an apple-shaped, black device when Clint walked into the lab.

 

“Right on time.” The scientist greeted, tossing the device at him. “Don’t know if you’d be interested in that. It’s a sort of spy cam that Tony and I have been fiddling with, but we can’t seem to get it any smaller. It’s got four different appearance settings, so considering, it’s pretty diminutive. We’ve programmed it with the level of common sense that Jarvis has, but its only function is to give a live feed image and audio to whatever screen it’s hooked up to. It’s programmed to your voice right now, say _spider_.”

 

Cautiously, Clint lifted the thing and repeated the word. Instantly it began to shift and click and unfold and refold into the shape of a rather large, rather horrifying tarantula. Its spindly, strong legs were spread out across his palm.

 

“It can also shape into a perfect sphere, a paperweight and a fully-functioning mug. Well, five settings if you include that weird lumpy shape it was. I don’t know why that’s its default shape, that’s just how it came to be. I figured you’re in the stealth business, and nothing like this has ever been made before by SHIELD.”

 

"It's pretty awesome. A bit conspicuous out in the field though. No one goes walking down the street with a tarantula or a paperweight." Clint said, testing the weight of the object by moving it from hand to hand. "It is pretty light which is a plus."  
  
He set the camera down and leaned against the table. This was good. Work he could handle. As long as he kept his mind off Phil he should be alright.  
  
 _But he would have loved that._ He thought looking at the camera. Phil always got worried when he went out undercover and their only communication was audio. He would have appreciated the spy cam.

 

“You seriously need to stop bringing me back into this.” Phil suddenly said, sitting cross-legged on the lab table in front of him. Bruce had turned and begun to babble about math and electricity in Clint’s quiver, making it easy to tune him out.

 

“You seriously need to stop bringing me back into this.” Phil suddenly said, sitting cross-legged on the lab table in front of him. Bruce had turned and begun to babble about math and electricity in Clint’s quiver, making it easy to tune him out.

 

"It's not like I'm doing this intentionally." Clint muttered under his breath so Bruce wouldn't hear him. He looked over at the scientist who was still happily babbling away, clearly oblivious to what was going on. Which was good because having someone else question his sanity would probably tip the scales into outright crazy.

 

“Like it or not, you are the one doing this. I thought you said you put me to rest at the funeral?” Phil accused lightly, sitting back on his hands.

 

"I tried." he said, maybe a little too loudly because now Bruce is looking at with that face. That nervous, pitying, questioning face that makes Clint want to shoot something. But he can't. Not when Bruce has been so nice and so sincere and helpful. So instead he smiles and tries to write it off like he's talking about the quiver and whatever bug Bruce might have worked out because yeah he's had that problem before and couldn't fix it, all the while hoping the scientist won't notice how pale he's gotten or the sweat on his brow.

 

“You know, you don’t have to talk to me out loud.” Phil said, taking his badge out of his suit coat pocket in order to play with the shiny bit of metal. “I’m a figment of your imagination. Which, by the way, congratulations for you being able to admit that to yourself.”

 

 _Congratulating myself on being able to admit I've lost my mind. Perfect. How much more fucked up can I get?_ Clint thought, his fists clenching in anger.

 

“No, congratulations that you’re still sane enough to know this isn’t real.” Phil frowned, putting the badge back in his jacket. “You’d have lost your mind if you believed I was really here. You’re not crazy, Clint, you’re mourning. Ever thought of therapy?”

 

“Clint, are you listening?”

 

In the next blink, Phil was gone from the table, and Bruce was holding his glasses in his hands, looking the agent right in the eyes.

 

"Sorry." Clint said sheepishly. "My mind was...somewhere else I guess. I got that you improved the quiver but a lot of the technical stuff went over my head." He smiles at the scientist. "If you want to go over the highlights quick I promise I won't drift off again."

 

Bruce gave the agent a stern look for a moment before yielding and explaining the improvements he made again, this time dumbing the terms down to a high school level.

 

They were at it, explaining, questioning, rephrasing, re-explaining and questioning again for over half an hour before the door opened.

 

“Wow, lucky,” Tony snorted, looking not a shred less put together than the night before, despite his drinking – a testament to his habits. “I was coming to ask Bruce if he’d seen you, but here you are. Natasha’s down in the main lobby looking for you – something about you two had a lunch date today?”

 

"Right." He had forgotten it was Monday. If Phil had been here- but he cut that thought off quickly, not wanting to drag his hallucination back. Maybe. Maybe some small part of him missed Phil so much that even just the illusion of him was welcome.  
  
It wouldn't do any good to think like that he knew so he pushed the thought away to smile at Bruce and thank him before heading for the door, surreptitiously glancing about for a convenient duct to crawl through.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint wasn't stupid. He might not be a genius like some others on his team but he certainly wasn't stupid and it didn't take long for him to figure out that what brought on the hallucinations were thoughts of Phil. So he tried not to think about him. Really, really tried.

 

But Phil was his life and everything seemed to bring him to the forefront of his mind. So he decided not to think at all. He did whatever he could to shut out the world, which usually brought him down to the range or one of the new simulation rooms Tony designed for the Avenger's to use for training. And it worked. From the minute he draws his first bow his mind is blissfully blank. The world narrows down to himself and the target and he doesn't have to think or feel or imagine.   
  
All he has to do is shoot. Nock, draw, breathe, release, repeat. It's that simple.   
  
He trained for hours at a time, sometimes foregoing food and sleep in place of practice because he can't stop. Stopping means thinking and for the last week thinking had been his greatest enemy. So he ran and jumped and shot until his muscles screamed for rest and he can't even stand. Only then does he let himself get dragged back to his room because by then he's so exhausted the nightmares won't bother him.

 

One of these mindless days, routine as usual, Clint was suddenly disturbed by the all-too-cheerful face of Thor in his sights.

 

“Friend Clint,” he said, his hands on his hips. He was wearing inconspicuous Midgardian clothes, a white tank top under a red button up, and worn grey jeans. “Our other friends are becoming worried for your health. They wish to see you outside. I knew it would take more than just their wishes to draw you from your nest, so I have crafted something to show you. Rather, I have commissioned something to show you. If you would follow me, we are due there in less than an hour.”

 

"Busy." Clint grunted because that's all the reply he could bother to give. He really didn't want to go outside or see what monstrosity Thor had commissioned. Everyone knew Thor meant well but he's crap when it comes to stuff like his. His customs just weren’t in line with Midgardian ones.

 

Thor’s smile slipped for a moment. “Busy, yes, with the same thing you’ve been doing all week. I’m certain you can take a short break. It’s important that you see what I have for you.”

 

Clint shook his head minutely; just enough so Thor got the point without taking his eyes off the target. "Come back in an hour. I've got a few more rounds to shoot." he ordered as he let the arrow fly.

 

Thor sighed. “It will be over by then. Please come with me, I do not wish to do this the hard way. You are going to see my gift to you one way or the other.”

 

Slowly Clint lowered his bow. He turned towards Thor, a fire blazing to life in his eyes. He wasn't about to forced to go anywhere, even by the god of thunder.  
  
"Are you threatening me?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

 

“More like a promise of force.” Thor said, his hands still on his hips as he looked down several heads to make eye contact with the much shorter man. “I do not wish to force you, but what I have for you is something you _must_ see.”

 

Clint glanced around him, scouting out possible exits. Thor was stronger than him but he was faster and more agile. It was possible he could escape and then hide out until the others had left before returning to the range.   
  
The entrance was out, Thor was standing right in front of it. The emergency exit wouldn't work, it would signal an alarm and then the entire tower would be looking for him. But there was an air vent to his right. If he managed to get there fast enough he might be able to scramble inside and there was no way Thor could follow him. His broad shoulders would never fit.  
  
Clint relaxed, pretending for a moment like he was going to give in. He took one small step forward before breaking into a run towards the vent.

 

 

He didn’t even make it two feet before he was clothes-lined right across the throat by a very powerful forearm.

 

 

Knocked to the ground, dizzied by the blow to his neck, he was suddenly hefted from the floor and set across a pair of very broad shoulders like a lamb. Held in place with an unfairly strong grip, he was powerless, and being taken away from his bow with every step towards the exit that Thor took.

 

“Should I intervene?” Jarvis suddenly asked from the ceiling. Tony was standing in the hall, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and a very amused expression on his face.

 

“Nah, let Thor carry him. Clint’ll come to his senses and stop struggling soon enough.” He laughed.

 

"Put me down!" Clint demanded, pounding on Thor's broad back. "I don't want to go anywhere dammit! Why can't you all leave me alone?"  
  
It soon became clear that his struggled were getting him no where. The man's muscles were hard as stone and Clint's pathetic protests and beatings seemed to have no effect on him. Finally Clint decided to give in...somewhat less than gracefully, and fell limp across the man's shoulder.

 

“You’ll thank him when this is over.” Tony laughed again as they made their way into an elevator. “Jarvis, put all the vents on lockdown. And Thor, go ahead and put him down. I don’t think he’ll try to run again, _will you_ Clint?”

 

"Fuck off Tony. There's no where to go in an elevator." Clint replied which was as close to an agreement as he wanted to get. He wouldn't run away but he didn't appreciate Tony's condescending tone.

 

“Staying cooped up in the training rooms with a diet of alcohol and coffee is hazardous to your health.” Tony said as the elevator arrived on the bottom floor. Thor kept his hand on Clint’s shoulder just in case. “We’re all going to see what Thor’s done, together. Family-style. Pepper included. _And_ you.”

 

They headed out front where a limo was waiting. Natasha was standing near the open door in a knockout knee-length black dress and a string of pearls, a white shrug fitted over her shoulders. Bruce waved from inside, wearing his nicest tweed jacket over his favorite faded purple button up.

 

Even Tony was dressed up, suit and all. Though that didn’t stop him from wearing his sunglasses and sneakers.

 

“Change of clothes for you already in the back.” Tony said as he patted the roof of the limo. “Thor’s informed us that this is a formal event. For everyone, apparently, except himself.”

 

Clint rolled his eyes. He hated formal wear, especially suits. Suits had always been- not his thing. He was most comfortable in a tight tee or wife-beater, preferably black, over jeans or his uniform pants. If he did wear long sleeves it was because it was part of his uniform or they were heading somewhere that the climate demanded it. Like that one mission in Russia in January. He had ended up with minor frost bite because he refused to wear gloves while he was shooting. He could still remember the scolding Phil-  
  
He needed a weapon. And something to use it on.  
  
"How the hell did you get me formal clothes?' he asked, climbing grudgingly into the limo. "Even Tasha doesn't know my size."

 

“Fury knows.” Tony said as he closed the door behind him, Thor squeezing in rather uncomfortably in the small space. “And he’s not going to be there, so don’t get your panties all up in a knot.”

 

“Tony.” Pepper scolded, smacking the billionaire’s wrist.

 

Clint gave a little snort of laughter. He could appreciate the sarcasm as Tony's way of trying to lighten the situation. It didn't help much but hey, he was trying.  
  
"How long is this going to take?" he asked, looking out the window at the still wrecked city. A lot of clean up had been done but almost everything was still in need of repair. It made him sick, thinking of how he had contributed to this.

 

“To get there? Maybe five minutes, that’s what Thor said.” Tony answered.

 

“The ceremony itself will last two hours, but you are not required to stay the entire time, friend Clint.” Thor said with a nod.

 

“Thor planned this whole thing entirely by himself.” Pepper said with a small smile. “Of course I looked the logistics over to make sure he wasn’t planning on having any axe-throwing, but he’s actually done a really good job with this.”

 

"Can someone tell me what 'this' is?" Clint growled, still not looking at any of them. If Pepper said this was going to be alright then he could trust that it would be but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it. Which he wasn't. He really, really wasn't.

 

“A celebration!” Thor announced proudly as the limo pulled around the corner.

 

“He’s trying.” Natasha assured Clint quietly with a comforting hand on his knee. “He’s really trying.”

 

Clint gave her a half-hearted smile. He knew Thor was trying and he couldn't really be mad at the guy. He, along with everyone else, was just trying to help. And Clint appreciated it even if all he wanted was to be left alone to work until he dropped.   
  
"What sort of celebration?" he asked Thor.

 

“We are here!” Thor suddenly exclaimed in lieu of giving Clint a real answer. They were still in the decimated part of the city, torn apart and slowly rebuilding. In fact, ‘here’ appeared to be in the very middle of a once-busy intersection. There were remnants of the giant turtle-bug alien ships lying across buildings and strewn all about, and even some bodies of the _Chuitari still remained scattered about._

_The intersection was right in front of a once-beautiful park, now grass uprooted and scattered and rocks and dirt upheaved in large amounts. There was a very tall, thin structure standing upright near the entrance to the park standing in the middle of a fountain. It had a bright red curtain thrown over it, staked down at the four corners beside the lip of the fountain._

_But probably more amazing was the table. There was a banquet-length table stretching at least fifty feet long piled with every kind of food imaginable. Several SHIELD agents were milling about, some Clint knew and some he didn’t, but no Fury._

_“A feast!” Thor exclaimed, throwing his arms out grandly. “It is tradition on Asgard to hold a feast for a mighty fallen warrior!”_

Clint instinctively shrunk back. He knew what this was. This was them trying to honor Phil. It was sweet, he knew, and if he trusted himself he would have appreciated it. But he knew he was mentally unstable and a feast in Phil's honor would make it impossible to keep his mind off his lost husband. And thinking about his was sure to trigger a hallucination.  
  
"I don't know if I can do this." He whispered to Natasha.

 

“Just stay for a little while. It’s polite. Thor put this all together for you and for Coulson. It’s the least you can do. Just grin and bear it for half an hour.” She put her hand on his shoulder with a comforting smile before heading towards the throng of people all in formal wear.

 

Clint sighed and made his way to his seat, making sure Natasha sat next to him. As soon as everyone had taken their seats he reached for her hand. He needed something to keep him grounded.

_She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand, trying to ignore the way his fingers trembled. She knew he was uncomfortable, but there was little she could do._

_There was a live band situated near the fountain playing folk music that was as upbeat as the conversation all around the table. Natasha did her best to keep Clint’s mind occupied by asking him questions about his ceaseless training sessions._

_When suddenly, Thor was standing on top of his chair. Someone was trying to situate a microphone, but his close friends knew all too well that he didn’t need one._

_“FRIENDS AND ALLIES!” he boomed to get the attention of the people at the table. “We have gathered here for one purpose only – to honor the greatest sacrifice of a noble hero – the Son of Coul! The noblest of us all, I would say, and worthy of so much more than I alone can offer! His story is one that few know, and fewer still appreciate. But those who do know him,” he paused and looked at his close friends, “know him as the truest of true friends, the bravest of brave warriors, and the strongest man who ever lived. In honor of the Son of Coul, I had this statue commissioned!”_

_Clint’s hand tightened around Natasha’s as the red curtain was pulled off the statue in the center of the fountain._

_It was a visage of Phil, standing tall and proud in a full suit, all shimmering in copper and gold. He had that smirk on his face that he got when he secretly knew he was better than you. One hand on a headpiece in his ear, the other tucked into his trouser pocket, he looked perfect. Like someone had taken a real-life, ten-foot-tall Phil, dipped him in gold, and put him out in the sunlight._

It was beautiful and Clint could feel tears on his face. He knew he should be thankful and honored on Phil's behalf but all he could feel was sad. The statue was a beautiful gesture he couldn't stop himself from thinking that it shouldn't be necessary.

 

_Dammit Phil. Why'd you have to go?_

 

_Arms wrapped around Clint’s neck, void of warmth or substance. He recognized those hands, that ring. He didn’t want to look up._

_“I love you_ _,” Phil whispered._

_I know,_ he thought, his eyes downcast. _But that doesn't make it any easier._  
  
He realized he was squeezing Natasha's hand hard enough to leave bruises and loosened his grip.

 

“And now, the band will play a ballad that SHIELD and I arranged!” Thor boomed.

 

“ _Coulson was a champion,_  

_A fighter at all hours_

_A hero brave, a warrior_

_Without any super powers_

_Coulson was a hero_

_Who didn’t need to fight._

_He didn’t have wings,_

_But he still took flight_

_Sacrificial warrior,_

_He answered the last call._

_To save the day, and end the fray,_

_He took one for us all._

_Coulson believed in many things._

_Above all others, he knew_

_That everywhere and everyway_

_There’s a warrior in you.”_

Clint released Natasha's hand for fear of breaking it. Instead he dug his short nails into his knee while the other gripped the table hard enough to leave marks. He was crying so hard he was shaking, he was sure of it. This was too much. The song and the imagined arms around him were like physical blows, knocking the wind out him and leaving him whimpering in pain.  
  
 _I can't do this Phil. I can't take it._

“You have to.” Phil was in front of him now, kneeling in front of his chair. Incorporeal hands cupped his face, but Clint still lifted his head when Phil’s hands moved up. “You have to, for me. I need you to be alive. I need you to live _for_ me.”

 

Clint shook his head.  
  
 _I can't. I can't do it. I need you._  
  
Out loud he whispered to Natasha, "Tasha I need to get out of here. Please, help."

 

“Just go. I’ll cover for you.” She whispered back, squeezing his knee to let him know she heard him.

 

"Thank you." He said, meaning it now more than he ever had before.   
  
As subtly as he could he slipped from his seat, keeping a partially crouched position until he was a decent ways away from the others so as not to draw attention to himself. Then, as soon as he was free, he started to run. He didn't care where he was going, he just knew he had to get away.  
  
Eventually he realized he had stopped and his head cleared enough for him to recognize the rooftop he was on. He had been here before, during that battle and after when he had first gotten the news that Phil was gone.

 

“Why do you keep coming back here?” Phil asked, standing on the very edge of the wall running around the roof.

 

"It seems fitting." Clint answered sadly. "If I had died during that battle it would have happened right here. Most of me wishes I had. So I come back here, kind of hoping i'll open my eyes and the battle will still be going on and i'll still have that chance."

 

To Clint’s surprise, Phil suddenly groaned.

 

“Oh my _God_ , would you _get over yourself?_ ”

 

“What did you just – !”

 

“I’m dead.” Phil interrupted, both his hands in his trousers pockets. “And I’m not getting any deader. I’m also not coming back to life. We’re in a state of being right now, that’s not changing, and that never will change. Your world has stopped spinning because of me, but you need to _open your eyes_ and realize that the rest of the world has not stopped on my account. You’re being really pathetic right now, I thought you were an agent.”

 

Clint glared at him. "I am an agent. One of the best. But I'm still human despite what you and SHIELD and Loki and everyone else have tried to make me. I still _feel_ Phil, as much as I wish I didn't. I wish I could shut it off and ignore it and pretend you meant nothing but I can't. And I know some part of me doesn't want to die but all of me doesn't want to live without you. So just back the fuck off!"  
  
He realized he was yelling, his chest heaving and he had started trembling again. But he wasn't sad now, he was angry.

 

“Friend Clint? Who are you speaking to?”

 

Phil was gone from the edge of the roof.

 

Thor was just coming up the final steps to the rooftop, a look on his face that Clint couldn’t quite place. “I realize I must have upset you, but I know not the reason.” He continued, his voice unusually quiet.

 

Clint sighed. Thor was a good guy and honestly, what he had done was wonderful. It wasn't his fault Clint was too fucked up to appreciate it.  
  
"You didn't do anything wrong." He said, letting his muscles unclench. "The statue and the banquet and the song were beautiful. It's more than I could have ever done for him. It just...hurts to think about him being gone. I've lost a lot of people in my life but this is the worst. I’m not handling it well. I'm sorry."

 

Thor sat on the wall at the edge of the roof and patted the spot beside him until Clint sat as well.

 

“On Asgard, we have a saying.” He said, his voice even quieter now. “Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”

 

He was quiet for a moment while he allowed it to sink into Clint’s very core.

 

“Love,” he continued, “Is more powerful than woe. More powerful than anger, and misery and pain. I have lost comrades in battle in the past, and I mourn their loss. But more than that, I celebrate the life they had before they left the realm of the living. If you spend all your time thinking of what you will never have with your Coulson, you will forget everything you already had.”

 

"We wasted so much time." Clint said, looking down at his hands. There's a scar on one of them, across his palm, from a mission. Phil had wrapped it for him on their way back and he could remember looking into his eyes and seeing Phil looking back. Neither of them made a move then though. They had let the moment pass like so many others.   
  
"We were always one step off, neither of us wanting to make the first move." He continued. "We thought it didn't matter because we would have years to make up for it. But he's gone."

 

“It’s okay to hurt.” Thor said, his hand coming to rest on Clint’s shoulder. “But do not regret. For everything happens in exactly the way it is meant to. You are being tested – your strength and your love. Only you can decide how you want things to happen. You can’t let Coulson decide for you.”

 

"Those would be two tests I'm failing." Clint said coldly. "There's nothing strong about letting yourself fall apart. And as for love-" he halted, fearing what he might say. But Thor was so kind and understanding and he thought that maybe he might not judge him to harshly. "Sometimes I hate him. I hate him for dying and then I hate myself for hating him and for letting it happen. I hate that he let himself be killed and left me alone but I know it wasn't his fault. If I hadn't helped Loki in the first place then he wouldn't be gone."

 

“That was out of your control, and you know that.” Thor said sternly, giving both of Clint’s shoulders a firm shake. “Nothing that happened is your fault, _nothing_. It is the fault of my brother, and of him alone. He is serving his punishment, in ways so painful to him you cannot even fathom, and yet unless I tell you he was killed you will not be satisfied. Nevertheless, things are coming back around full circle, and you cannot be allowed to blame yourself for what happened.”

 

He sighed and moved back, dropping his hands into his lap.

 

“Coulson’s death… is my fault. Blame me, if you will blame anyone else but Loki. My brother… tricked me. In the most simple way, he tricked me as he has a hundred times since our youth. He tricked me into the cage, and trapped me. And in my entrapment, I was unable to go to prevent Coulson’s murder, or go to his aid.”

 

"He shouldn't have been there in the first place. Getting onto the carrier with you all was his plan from the start." Clint said bitterly. "But that's the past. We can't change the past. I know that. Its one of the first things I learned. The past doesn't change so move on. It’s the future I don't like."

 

“You know what they say – the ones we love never truly leave us.” Thor said, clapping Clint on the back much gentler than usual. “I will leave you to your thoughts, I must return to the festivities. Do not feel obligated to return yourself.”

 

Offering a warm smile, Thor retreated from the roof, and Clint was once again in silence.

 

“Boy, you know the truth behind those words more than anyone, don’t you?” Phil laughed, standing in the exact same spot as before, beside Clint on the wall of the roof.

 

Clint glared at him again. "That's cruel. What's worse is I know that you're really just me talking so I’m only being cruel to myself. But that's nothing new, is it?"

                                                                                                                         

“Yeah, I’m a figment of your grieving subconscious.” Phil shrugged. “Still, it’s my presence popping in and out that’s kept you from eating a bullet so far, isn’t it? Stifling me on the range felt like living through a never-ending heart attack, didn’t it? Don’t try to lie to me, I know how you’re feeling. I know every thought that passes through your head.”

 

"Yes." Clint said, knowing he couldn't deny it. He craved Phil's presence even though he knew it wasn't real. Being able to see and hear him sometimes seemed like a small blessing but not being able to reach out and touch was torture.  
  
"You're going to tell me that's pathetic right?" He asked the apparition.

 

“No, it’s lucky. You have an active enough imagination that you can create me out of thin air to ease your suffering. Most people who lose a loved one lose them for good.” Phil came to sit on the wall beside him and leaned over onto Clint’s shoulder. It never ceased to dishearten him when Phil would touch him, and he could feel no warmth from his body.

 

 "I'm not stable. Emotionally or mentally." Clint said sadly, moving away from Phil and the imagined touch. "I should report to Fury. But he'll either want me to go o counciling, and you know how I feel about that, or have me discharged. Either way I'll be off the team."

 

“You’ve already been put on leave.” Phil reminded him, not moving to reconnect their bodies. “You’re already off the team for now. Clint, look at me.”

 

“No.”

 

“Look at me.”

 

“I don’t want to.”

 

“ _Look_ at me.”

 

“I’m scared.”

 

“Do it.”

 

Clint looked over. Phil was holding his wedding ring between two fingers. “You see this?”

 

No answer. “You _see_ this?”

 

“God, _yes,_ what.”

 

“This was the ring I let you put on my finger at City Hall. This is the ring that keeps me bound to you. This is the ring that symbolizes all the years I was going to give to you.” Phil spoke softly.

 

“Why are you saying this?” Clint’s voice was choked.

 

“You can’t _force_ me away, Clint. I’m bound to you, body and spirit. You can’t push me aside with training, I won’t go away. I will _never_ leave you if you try to make me.” Phil took in a slow breath. “You have to _let me go_.”

 

"No." Clint said, jumping to his feet. He felt light headed for a moment as his emotions swirled, anger and sadness and determination all fighting for dominance and making him dizzy. "No! I've lost too many people already. I won't let you go! I can't! I don't know how!"  
  
He knew he was only torturing himself but the thought of letting Phil go, of giving him up, was too painful. He knew he had tried to say goodbye during the funeral but he didn't really want to. He wasn't ready to let him go and be left on his own.

 

Phil sighed and slipped the ring back over his finger. “It’s sweet that you don’t want to let me go, but you have to realize – ”

 

“Clint?” Natasha’s voice, coming up the stairs now. “Thor told me you’re here all by yourself again. Are you alright?”

 

Phil was gone.

 

"I don't know." he replied honestly, turning from the ledge and approaching her. "I really don't know."

 

She offered no more words, asked for no more explanation, just pulled him into a tight hug.

 

They stayed like that for an eternity and a half.


	6. Chapter 6

Through all of Clint’s grieving, it seemed, Steve stayed well out of his way. He didn’t look at Clint, he didn’t speak to him. He never trained with him or checked up on him. In fact, he’d left a room once or twice because Clint was in it.

 

He didn’t exactly mind. He wasn’t the best of friends with Steve anyway.

 

He knew everyone was just trying to “help” him, but Steve’s lack of contribution neither helped nor hindered him. He pretty much forgot the man existed in the days that followed.

 

He was in a bad place after the banquet. Phil hadn’t come back since that day on the roof, never finished his sentence. Clint even _tried_ calling him back around, but Phil seemed to be ignoring him. Fucking perfect.

 

Upon Natasha’s suggestion, he went back to his apartment. His and Phil’s. For the first time in weeks, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was dark and stale inside, and there was a faint buzzing of flies somewhere. The garbage in the kitchen hadn’t been emptied for weeks, after all.

 

The apartment itself was modest though between his and Phil's salaries they probably could have done a lot better. The building was on the older side, not as old as some in New York and they liked it. It had more character than these new apartments that were all steel and glass.   
  
It suited their needs perfectly. It had three bedrooms, one theirs, one for guests and one that served as Phil's second office and Clint's weapon storage. They had a small but maneuverable bathroom, a living room with a small dining space and a kitchen that was big enough to fit Clint and let him work without leaving too much room for his husband to interfere, unless he wanted him to of course.    
  
The kitchen had always been one of his favorite rooms. He looked at it now and smiled sadly at the fond memories it evoked. He could recall instantly the few times they had had sex on those counters, like the first time he had cooked for Phil and his lover had seen fit to thank him right then and there or when Phil had come home from a job without him and they just couldn't make it to the bedroom. He could readily call to mind all the many nights spent making the short trip between counter and stove cooking dinner while Phil set the table or caught up on reports. He could remember coming home to find Phil trying to bake him a birthday cake. There was flour all over the walls and the counters and the cake itself had been burned black. He had just laughed though and handed him a sponge to clean up while he went down to the nearest bakery to pick something up for them to share.   
  
He walked slowly, moving deeper into the apartment, trying to quell the overwhelming sense of heart ache. Dust had settled over their dining room table and the few pictures they had, mostly from times between missions when they were able to relax for a few minutes. The living room was too quiet. Both of them had hated silence when they weren't working and if they were home alone they usually kept the television on to keep away the gloom. If they were both home they usually relaxed on the couch, Phil with his feet up on the coffee table and Clint either crouching on the arm rest cleaning one weapon or another or reclining with his head on his husband's lap. Looking at it now he could hardly believe how he had taken those moments for granted.   
  
He moved on to their bedroom, stopping at Phil's office where Coulson had spent far too many late nights. It had been here that Phil told him about the Avenger Initiative and how Fury wanted them both, along with Natasha as part of it though Phil himself would be playing the part of handler, not a member of the team. Clint had teased him about getting to play babysitter and his lover had responded, as calm as anything, that he'd had plenty of practice dealing with him over the years. Here he had signed all the paperwork to join the team and even now there was a pile of unfinished paperwork on the desk next to a Captain America action figure. Clint had distracted him in the middle of the night before Loki had arrived. He had known he would be leaving in the morning to join security at the lab and he had wanted to spend the night together.  
  
 _If I had known it would be the last I would have made it so much better._ He thought, his eyes stinging with tears.  
  
Their bedroom looked untouched except for his closet which stood open and empty. Natasha hadn't bothered to close the door when she had gotten his things. He could see Phil's suit hanging on the back of his closet door. He always set one out for the next day after getting dressed in the morning. It was just part of his routine. Like making the bed which was as perfect at that moment as it always was when he came home. The sheets and blanket had been changed. Phil had probably stripped them before, because they had been thoroughly soiled the night before. He noticed briefly a little wrinkle in the fabric near the foot of the bed and automatically moved to smooth it out. Natasha had probably sat down for a minute while she was working.   
  
A tear ran down his face and he left the room in a hurry. Outside he laid a hand on the door to their former guest room. They had never had guests and had decided about a year ago that they should put the bedroom to good use and had begun preparing it for their new son. The room was about half way through the redecorating process. It made Clint's chest ache to think it would never be finished.

 

He didn’t know why Natasha had said it would therapeutic to come here. He felt worse than ever.

 

The last stop he had to make was by the mail box, which was probably overflowing. Down in the lobby he used the key to unlock the box, and laughed bitterly as mail came spilling out. Deciding he wanted to look through it on the top floor at the dining table – like he and Phil always did – he stepped back into the elevator.

 

The chair creaked underneath him in the same way it always did as he spread out the mail, clicking on the little lamp that sat at the middle of the table.

 

Lots of bills, lots of bills, he was surprised he hadn’t been fined yet. Although, knowing Natasha, she’d convinced Tony to pay off his bills, and probably his rent too.

 

There was a Netflix DVD unopened in its red package – _Lion King_. Clint had found out that Phil never saw that particular movie, which was obviously unforgivable. They’d never get to watch it now.

 

There was a postcard for Phil from Cuba, sent by his sister. And then there was a bunch of junk mail.

 

There was one envelope that was thicker than the rest, and across the front in handwriting Clint didn’t recognize,

 

“ _To the happy couple of 607D Ablebee Apt. Complex._ ”

 

There was no return address, it had been blacked out with a sharpie.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to open it. He didn’t know what it was, but if it was meant to be read with Phil by his side, he didn’t feel it right. Scooping the junk mail and the mystery letter and bills into the trash bin, Clint carried the DVD back downstairs to mail it back in.

 

He knew he should probably go to the land lord and talk about the lease but he didn't have the heart to do it. Not yet. Besides, he still had to clear out all of Phil's things. The furniture could be sold except for maybe a few small pieces but Phil would never have forgiven him if he found out he had just left all his Captain America memorabilia behind. Or his suits. Or their pictures.  
  
So instead he locked up the mailbox and put his keys in his pocket. He stepped out of the building and sighed, turning around to look up at his and Phil's bedroom window. It wasn't the end. He knew that. He'd come back eventually, there was no avoiding it, but he couldn't help but feel like this was just another goodbye.

 

A few hours later he was sitting at the counter island in one of the many kitchens of Stark Tower, his head hanging in his hands. He was thinking so hard about this that and the other thing that he felt like he wasn’t thinking about anything at all. His head was so full, it was empty.

 

“Hey.”

 

Head snapping up, Steve was standing in the kitchen doorway. He was holding an empty glass, presumably bringing it back from wherever he’d finished the liquid from. He looked somewhat uncomfortable, and also somewhat strained.

 

He cleared his throat and looked like he was contemplating running to a different kitchen, but eventually stepped into the room and headed to the sink.

 

Clint only nodded in response. He didn't want to make the poor guy more uncomfortable but honestly it was his fault for walking in in the first place. Everyone in the tower knew by now that almost no room was safe from Clint's aura of depression. Tony, Natasha and Bruce had all banded together (with the aid of Jarvis) to ban him from the range unless he had at least one other Avenger with him. Since then he had taken to sulking in every corner of the tower, just to make things inconvenient for everyone else.

 

Steve cleared his throat again and Clint looked up. He looked like for just a moment he was going to say something before closing his mouth and shaking his head.

 

Walking towards the doorway, he suddenly stopped and turned around, speaking before he could convince himself not to.

 

“I’m sorry, Clint. For your loss.”

 

It was the most basic thing he could possibly say. And it almost meant nothing. _Almost._

 

But there, pinned to his pain white short-sleeved shirt, right over his left pectoral, was a pin. A round, simple pin about the size of a half dollar. It was rainbow striped, and in white block text read only one word.

 

“Ally.”

 

Clint's mouth was dry for a second and he had to clear his throat a few times before he could say anything. Normally he'd be a lot smoother about things but he's never been caught this off guard before. It was pretty obvious when Clint first screamed the news of his marriage to Phil at everyone that Steve was uncomfortable. Which, Clint had to admit, made perfect sense. Steve was from an entirely different time. A time when homosexuality was considered a form of mental illness. In most states sodomy was punishable by law. So Clint hadn't held it against him.  
  
But seeing him now, with the pin and knowing that Steve of all people recognized his marriage and his loss was unexpected and touching and really kind of astounding. He knew what this would have meant to Phil too and that just made it mean even more.  
  
If he had gone with his first instinct he would have jumped out of his chair and given the Captain a hug but luckily he thought better of it. There were tears again but he managed to hold them back long enough to hold out his hand and offer the most sincere thank you he possibly could.

 

Steve shook his hand with a nod. It seemed like he was going to say something else before he shook his head and left the room swiftly.

 

“Well, what do you know.” Phil was sitting on the counter beside Clint now, a small smile on his face. “If that isn’t touching.”


	7. Chapter 7

After that, Clint kind of came back to himself a little. He still didn't smile or joke or tease anyone like he used to but he was getting better. He joined the other Avengers for meals and he talked to them. He only went down to the range for an hour or two and sometimes he even skipped that in favor of sparring with Steve or Natasha. He went out sometimes, going down to the park to just sit and think but he always came back.  
  
He still had trouble sleeping and he was still sad. He doubted he would ever not be sad. He had lost the love of his life and that wasn't something even a normal person who didn't have abandonment issues just got over. But he had started to realize that yeah, there were people who gave a damn and were willing to help. And that made it just a little easier.

 

It was nearly two months now, since he first got the awful news. He sat at the fountain almost every day and watched as the sun gleamed over the big copper statue of Phil.

 

And with every day that passed, he grew more and more accustomed to Phil’s absence. And less and less and less did his hallucination haunt him. It was hard, losing that last little bit of him, but it also meant that he was finally moving on. Little by little, he was coming back to his normal self.

 

And one day when the Avengers all had to rush off to stop a nuclear terrorist from bombing Japan, he realized that he missed it. They left him behind – he was still discharged – and he had to sit with Pepper and watch it on the news.

 

He missed it. And he wanted it back.

 

He made up his mind then to talk to Fury. He didn't see why he shouldn't be back on active duty. His grief was under control, his hallucinations were becoming a thing of the past and he was no longer a danger to himself.   
  
As soon as the battle was over and he was sure all his friends, because they were friends now weirdly enough, were coming home safe, he left Pepper to go to Fury's office. He knew what he wanted, knew what to say, and he was determined to get what he wanted. He was strong and confident and ready.  
  
And all that flew out the window when he saw Loki sitting, alone, in Fury's office.

 

“Hello again.” Loki gave a snide little smile. His hands were cuffed together in his lap, his legs pulled up next to him on the plush armchair. “Funny seeing you here.”

 

Clint instantly felt his blood start to boil. He had never forgotten how Loki had laughed when Clint had revealed that Phil was his husband and he had never forgiven him for taking Phil from him. But he had never had the chance for any kind of revenge. The only times he saw Loki he was accompanied by Thor and usually a few other Avengers who would easily turn Clint into a pretzel if he tried anything.   
  
But now he had his chance.  
  
He reached for his knife, not drawing it yet but letting his palm rest on the handle as he surveyed the ex-god.  
  
"Funny? You think this is amusing you piece of shit?" he asked.

 

“Well, yes.” Loki answered smoothly, not even looking at the knife Clint was close to drawing. “You know, you were always my favorite mind-slave. You were so resourceful. So helpful. I couldn’t have gotten nearly as far as I did without you.”

 

A low growl escaped Clint. He hadn't forgotten what it felt like to have Loki in his head. To have him twist his loyalties and friendships and joys until Clint was as twisted and fucked up as he was. Until Clint wanted to help him, because it had seemed _right._  
  
And having Loki throw that in his face only made him angrier.  
  
"I think I owe you for that. And for what you did to Phil." he said, taking a few steps closer, his eyes locked on his target.

 

A toothy grin spread across Loki’s face, but he looked as relaxed as before in the armchair. He wiggled  his fingers and lifted his hands, letting the chain between the simple handcuffs clink together.

 

“Are you really going to attack me when I can’t even defend myself?” he asked innocently. “That’s pretty cowardly, don’t you think? Where’s the satisfaction in that? I might as well be sleeping, and that’s no fun.”

 

"This isn't about fun." Clint said, grasping the knife. His eyes were alight with a deep simmering loathing and he looked every inch the predator, just waiting for the proper moment to attack his prey. "Besides, attacking when the target is least threatening was your first lesson."

 

“ _Stand down, agent_.”

 

Fury’s voice was deep and commanding and left no room for argument.

 

“Oh, Director, you’re really going to stop him from getting his revenge?” Loki said, looking over Clint’s shoulder with an innocent expression.

 

“Under Thor’s decree, Loki has been put under my care.” Fury said, taking Clint by the shoulder and pushing him around to face him, turning his back to Loki. “And he has informed me under no uncertain terms that if Loki befalls any unnecessary violence, our planet will pay dearly. So if you don’t stand down, _I’ll make you_.”

 

"I would like to point out that I did not actually do anything." Clint said, taking his hand off his knife and stepping away. If he wanted to get cleared for active duty he knew he would have to play nice. "I could have killed him the moment I stepped into this office. You know that, sir."

 

“Barton, right?” Loki smiled, Clint’s head snapped around. “I did you a favor, by the way. Your body count from the time you were under my care is 66.”

 

“You _shut up._ ” Fury ordered, jabbing a finger into Loki’s shoulder, causing him to burst out in berserk laughter.

 

"If I can't stab him can I at least put some tape over his mouth? Sir?" Clint asked through gritted teeth. He'd really have liked to start throwing punches, most of them directed at Loki's face, until he's too bloody and broken to laugh but that doesn't seem like an option.  
  
At the same time he couldn't stop that voice in his head. _Your body count is sixty six. Sixty six people dead. Innocent people, not targets like S.H.I.E.L.D. give you. 66 innocents who died because Loki was in my head._  
  
It made him sick and angry and yes, made him hate himself just a little bit more.

 

“It’s a good thing I killed that man, because he wouldn’t even want you back after he found that out!” Loki caterwauled.

 

“Okay, _enough_ , you.” Fury hauled Loki to his feet by the chains of his handcuffs and threw him into the hall at the first couple agents standing there. “Take him somewhere secure and leave him there for a couple dozen years.” He snapped, and Loki was dragged off, still cackling like a madman.

 

Clint didn't hear it. He started trembling as soon as Loki had mentioned Phil and everything else had gone black. Loki was right. If Phil had found out about what he'd done he'd have left anyway. Phil had been one of those men who never killed when it wasn't necessary. He hated the thought of innocent lives being lost. He was one of those people who was genuinely _good.  
  
_ Clint wasn't.  
  
He tried to pull himself back, to break the surface of this sudden suffocating realization. He was in Fury's office. He had come here for a reason but he couldn't remember what.

 

“Can I help you, agent?” Fury said, sitting at his desk as though nothing had happened. “Why are you in my office?”

 

"I don't..."Clint shook his head. He remembered why he had come. He had wanted back on active duty. He had been foolish enough to think he could be trusted with that responsibility again. "I had considered making a request about my current status but I've decided to hold off for now."

 

Fury sighed. “Look, about Coulson,” but he was cut off with a hand held up by Clint. “Agent, really, you should know that I – ”

 

“Please. I don’t want to hear it.” Clint’s voice was strangled.

 

He didn't think he could stand to hear it. He felt small and wrong and disgusting and having Phil dragged into that would wreck him. Because Phil would be disgusted with him too, he knew that. If Phil were there he wouldn't have spared Clint a last look before he walked out the door.  
  
But he wasn't there. He would never be there and Clint knew that was as much his fault as it was Loki's.  
  
"I have to go." he said, the words short and mechanical. "I'm sorry for wasting your time sir."

 

“Agent, listen to what I have to say –”

 

But Clint was gone, charging down the halls and pushing everyone in his way aside in his attempt to escape. He felt _so wrong_ , and he didn’t want to be around people right now. He raced down the street from the secret SHIELD headquarters, away and away and away. He pushed people aside on the street as well, the builders and construction workers and a few suit-clad overseers on his way.

 

He couldn’t stand being alive right now. He felt sick and terrible, so, so terrible. There weren’t proper words to describe how he was feeling.

 

Pushing another suit-clad man out of the way, he was charging up the stairs to that same rooftop he kept going back to.

 

He found himself standing on the edge of the roof, the very, very edge, looking down. The height should have scared him. The idea of falling and hitting the ground, ending his life as a broken bloody mess on the concrete should have scared him. He knew he should have been afraid. He knew he should have been having second thoughts. But he issn't. His only thoughts were that it might be like flying. Like a real hawk. He'd fallen before, plenty of times at the circus. This would be like that, he told himself. Just another fall but this time without the net.   
  
It was what he deserved. It was what was right. He had killed so many people in his life, at least 66 of them innocent. He had too much blood on his hands. Phil's blood too because he should have been able to stop it. Should have been able to stop Loki but he couldn't. He didn't. So the jump was the right thing to do. It was justice. Phil would have appreciated that.

 

“Clint? _What_ do you think you’re doing? Get off the edge right now.” There was Phil again, standing near the entrance to the roof. “I don’t care what you think you’re planning, step away _now_.”

 

"Shut up Phil." he replied, a little sullen. He didn't appreciate his subconscious kicking in now of all times. He would have preferred for this to be somewhat peaceful. But maybe he didn't even deserve that. Maybe a little heartbreak before he died was exactly what he deserved. "I'm not going to listen to you this time."

 

“ _What?_ Clint, god dammit, _stop this_. What on earth are you planning? What the hell will jumping accomplish?” he took a step forward, but raised his hands when Clint flinched. “Okay, sorry, I won’t come any closer. For the love of Christ, get _down_.”

 

"No." the reply is defiant because he wasn't about to let himself be talked down again. Not by himself, not by a hallucination. "I can't do it anymore." he continued, looking at Phil with big blank eyes but his tone was startlingly calm and even. "I don't want to be alone. I don't want to keep torturing myself like this. And I deserve it. You would think so too if you knew."

 

“Knew what? Explain. Now.” Phil demanded, inching a little bit closer, slow enough that Clint didn’t really notice.

 

"Don't pretend you don't know." Clint snapped. He didn't apprecite his mind deciding to play tricks with him. The imagined Phils had always made it clear that they knew everything he knew. That they knew his thoughts. Now this Phil was playing dumb and it grated on his nerves.

 

“Clint, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but whatever it is, it’s stupid.” Phil said in a no-nonsense tone. “Now get down off that wall or so help me, I’ll _make_ you.”

 

"You can't make me. You can't even touch me." Clint responded, shuddering a little at the remembered touches of the prior Phils. How he could see their arms and hands on him but couldn't feel them. They had had no weight, no pressure. Just ghosts.

 

Phil was breathing a little harder now, his hands reached out again like he was going to pull Clint towards him at any second, but there was still three feet of space between them.

 

“Did my words mean nothing to you?” he asked, taking another half-step closer. “Did you not care? Why are you doing this?”

 

"Of course they meant something. And it hurt. All of it hurt." Clint said. He was crying again. He hated crying. He hated being so weak. But that was why he was doing this. Because his weakness was dangerous. His weakness had gotten Coulson killed.

 

“I’m sorry I left, Clint.” Phil’s tone was even. “I’m sorry I had to go, and I’m sorry it happened when it did, and it was so sudden, and that you didn’t know. I’m so sorry, but I can’t change the past. It was necessary.”

 

" _Necessary?!_ " Clint shouted. He couldn't believe this. He knew Phil's death had been avoidable. He knew it and this illusion knew it too. Saying anything else was a vicious, disgusting lie.   
  
"Leaving me alone was necessary? None of it was necessary! Saying it was is more cruel than anything else you've done. It all could have been stopped. I could have stopped it but I didn't."

 

“Stopped it? Clint, that wasn’t up to you – did you even _read_ my letter?”

 

"What letter?" Clint asked. There hadn't been a letter. How could there be a letter? He wasn't that crazy. Writing a letter to himself from Phil would have been extreme even for him.  
  
He didn't want to listen to this anymore. He didn't want to deal with the confusion and the heartache and goddamned hallucinations. He was done.   
  
"I'm sorry Phil." he said, tipping forward on the ledge.

 

“God _dammit!_ ”

 

Phil almost never raised his voice. How interesting.

 

Even more interesting was that instead of falling forward into the growing and gasping crowd below, he was tumbling backwards. Maybe his foot had slipped?

 

But… no. He was suddenly encompassed in warm arms, holding him tightly from behind. He was whirled around, and Phil smacked him hard across the face.

 

“I am _not_ having this conversation with you on the edge of a building.” He snapped, his voice stern and his face severe. “Pull yourself together, dammit, and _look at me when I’m talking to you_.”

 

Clint stared, shocked into stillness for a moment. Then he was all movement, pushing Phil away so he could really look at him while he ran his hands up and down the man's body.  
  
He started at his hips, then to his hands, up his arms to his shoulders to his neck and then back down again. It was Phil. It was Phil, whole and alive and warm and _real_ beneath his hands.   
  
"This isn't possible." he whispered, never breaking contact.

 

“You _didn’t_ read my letter, did you?” Phil said gently, stopping Clint’s roving hands and holding them both in his own.

 

"What letter?" Clint asked, squeezing Phil's hands as tightly as he can. He wondered briefly if he was dead and this was heaven. Or hell. Probably hell. If he was going anywhere it would be hell.

 

“I sent it to our apartment.” Phil said, squeezing Clint’s hands back. “Addressed it to the both of us, SHIELD has been watching me so closely, I couldn’t afford to make it look like anything less than a letter from family. Didn’t you read it?”

 

"You're dead. Why would I read a letter addressed to the both of us if you weren't there?" Clint asked. He remembered the letter now. He had thrown it out with all the others because he had thought it was a congratulations on their wedding.

 

Phil sighed. “I guess I hoped you would be feeling sentimental.” He said, “I explained everything in that letter.”

 

"Explain now." Clint ordered. He had meant for it to come out as more of a request than a command but dammit he wanted answers. He wanted answers and he wanted them now before he did something stupid. Again.

 

“Fury put me back together pretty immediately, fixed me up with a brand new lung that won’t be going out of commission any time soon.” Phil said, sitting down on the edge of the roof with Clint, never breaking eye contact. “But he needed my KIA status to stay active a little bit longer. I had an incredibly important mission, and my being dead would only help my case. If I’d still been _alive_ it would have taken twice as long. Being dead allowed me to sneak around in places I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. I broke exactly sixteen regulations by sending you that letter, but I didn’t want something like _this_ to happen.” He gestured towards the crowd that was dispersing beneath them on the street.

 

"I thought you were gone." Clint said. He didn't say that that wasn't why he had been up there. He didn't say that it had been eating him up inside for two months. He didn't say that it was Loki's words that had finally pushed him this far. He didn't because he couldn't. Not now. Not when he wasn't sure he believed this was Phil. Because if it wasn't Phil he didn't want to drag all those emotions up just to talk to himself. And if it was Phil....well maybe he didn't want him to know.

 

“Fury wanted you to think I was gone. That’s why I sent the letter. I probably should have made other efforts to contact you, I’m sorry.” Phil reached one hand up and caressed his husband’s cheek. “I didn’t want you to think I was dead. It’s not fair to you.”

 

He leaned forward and pressed the most tender of kisses to the man’s lips, tasting the tears that were running down his face.

 

Clint let himself be kissed for a moment before pulling away. He wanted nothing more than to permanently attach himself to his husband and never let go but Loki's words were still swirling in his head. He could still hear _66 bodies_ repeating itself on a loop in his brain accompanied by Loki's psychotic laughing.   
  
He couldn't let this go on. Not when Phil didn't know. Because when he found out he was going to be sick and he would probably be grateful that Clint had stopped him.

 

“Clint, why won’t you look me in the eye?” Phil knew something was still off. “Please, talk to me.”

 

"I did some bad stuff." Clint said gruffly. He couldn't lie to Phil. He'd never lie to Phil. Not when Phil was there looking at him and loving him and not knowing. Clint had to tell him. He deserved to know. “When I was… when I wasn’t myself.”

 

“Are you talking about the time when Loki had you in his control?” Phil was talking quieter now. “Fury told me about it. He told me what happened.”

 

Clint flinched. Phil knew. But he couldn't have known how bad it was. He knew Clint had killed some people. But he didn't know just how far he had gone. He couldn't have known.  
  
"I killed sixty six people Coulson." he said. "That's a lot of murder, even for me."

 

“You only call me by my last name when you’re upset with me.” Phil frowned.

 

 "That's what you focus on?" Clint asked, slightly exasperated. Didn't Phil understand what he was saying? He had killed sixty six people while in the service of someone who was trying to take over earth. He had contributed to the attack that had killed-or almost killed- Phil himself.

 

“People die in war, Clint. Good people, innocent people.” Phil cupped either side of Clint’s face. “War is painful, that’s why we try to avoid it.”

 

He sighed when Clint didn’t seem to soften any.

 

“Look, Clint…” he spoke evenly. “Think about it this way. If you hadn’t been taken by Loki, then the Avengers never would have come together. His plan to be captured and release Dr. Banner never would have come to fruition without you, I never would have been injured, and you never all would have come together as seamlessly as you did. Not to mention, hundreds of people would have died if I hadn’t been able to clean up the mission I had in Armenia as quickly as I did. You’re a _hero_ , Clint. It was _you_ who single-handedly saved the day because you let Loki think he could have you.”

 

He pulled him closer, wrapped his arms around the shaking man. “But Loki _can’t_ have you. He could never have you, because you are _mine_.”

 

"I might have killed you." Clint said but he leaned into Phil's embrace. It felt so good after so long. He didn't think he would ever move. "If Loki had ordered me to I could have been the one to kill you."

 

“You also could have spontaneously combusted.” Phil said, pushing Clint back to look him in the eye, forcing his chin so they were making eye contact. “If we ponder all the theoretics, we’re going to be here all night. Is that how you want to spend tonight?”

 

Clint shook his head. No that was definitely not how he wanted to spend his night. Not with Phil here and alive in his arms. He knew they would probably come back to it later, there were a lot of problems that still needed to be worked out, but for now he was more than happy to set it aside.  
  
"I think you should spend some time proving you're alive." Clint challenged playfully.

 

Phil suddenly scooped his arms beneath Clint’s muscular frame and lifted him from the edge of the rooftop. “Let’s go then.” He said, smiling as his husband’s biceps nearly strangled him with the force and suddenness that they coiled around his neck. He missed this touch.


	8. EPILOGUE

All the Avengers were gathered at the Tower when Phil and Clint came back. Part of that probably had to do with them calling ahead and telling them they would be bringing back a surprise and partly because Clint had threatened to use whoever wasn't there for target practice. No exceptions. Except Fury and Loki who he had yet to forgive despite Phil coming back from the dead three months previous.   
  
Everyone was up in Tony's penthouse, enjoying some drinks and chatting, wondering what the big surprise could be, when the elevator opened admitting a very tired but very happy looking Phil, carrying a large blue bag.  
  
"Clint will be right up. He got distracted." he said, setting the bag down and reaching for a glass of wine.  
  
He was immediately set upon with questions which he refused to answer with a small smile saying they would all find out soon enough.  
  
No more than five minutes after he said that did the doors open again admitting a grinning Clint and the chubby, wide-blue-eyed baby boy he was carrying.

 

There was immediate silence among everyone. It didn’t even seem like a soul was breathing in the penthouse.

 

And then, “Oh my _gosh!_ ” Natasha rushed forward, Pepper in pursuit, and they crowded Clint to get a look at the tiny blonde boy.

 

“A child?’ Steve asked.

 

“A son.” Phil corrected, smiling as he looked over Clint’s warm, proud expression. Matthew was already being handed off to Pepper, while Natasha poked at the baby’s round tummy and stubby little toes.

 

“You adopted a kid?” Tony asked Clint as he drew closer. “Thanks a lot, buddy, now Pepper’s biological clock is gonna get ticking even _faster_.”

 

"Thanks Tony." Pepper said with a roll of her eyes before turning back to the giggling baby.   
  
"So what's his name?" Bruce asked, sidling up to peer over the women's heads.  
  
Clint smiled and gently, alright maybe a little reluctantly, handed him over to Natasha who looked close to squealing. "Matthew. Matthew Steve Coulson. Phil wanted to name him 'Captain' but I managed to talk him down to Steve."

 

“Clint, I told you not to tell them.” Phil suddenly hissed, taking a few hasty steps away from Steve, who was still wearing his ally button and chuckling a little.

 

"I'd think he'd be honored." Clint said, watching his baby get passed around the group. He laughed when the infant got to Thor who was able to fit him in one large hand. "Besides, you get to pick the middle name and I get to mock it. I thought we agreed on that?"

 

“Midgardian infants are so… _tiny_.” Thor mused, lifting Matthew, who was instantly enthralled with the Asgardian’s long blonde hair, and began to play with it much like a squirmy kitten would.

 

"Careful with him." Clint said, stepping forward in case the infant rolled out of the Asgardian's grip. He watched nervously until he was content that Thor wouldn't let his son fall.

 

“He looks like Steve-spawn alright, with that hair and those eyes.” Tony remarked with a smirk.

 

Eventually Thor handed the baby back to Clint, who looked relieved past words that the group was done and he could hold his baby again.

 

“Why’d you want a kid anyway?” Bruce asked, obviously children made him nervous – he was the only one who hadn’t held him.

 

Phil looked over at Clint, who nodded, letting him speak for them both. “Because we want to put something better into this world than what was there before.”

 

Clint smiled and took back their son, handing him over to Phil. As soon as he was settled in Phil's arms Matthew yawned and closed his eyes, his thumb instinctively going to his mouth while he slept. It was probably the cutest and most magical thing he had ever seen.   
  
Still smiling he leaned over and pecked his husband on the cheek. It was terrifying to think how close to losing all of this he had been. But looking around him now, at his friend's and new family, he couldn't believe how lucky he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you every one and all for reading!


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